Writers often get asked how they motivate themselves. How they force themselves to write. And of course we wrinkle our brows and talk sensibly about routines, and deadlines, and brainstorming documents, and self-discipline…
The truth is, there’s a magical elixir that gets me through the the day (and sometimes night) of writing. It’s comforting on ordinary days, and the source of my writerly superpower when I’m exhausted or at a low ebb.
Safer than a speeding bullet! Cheaper than a locomotive! Helps me leap tall buildings in a single bound! Or… well… helps me stumble out of bed in the morning with my brain more or less functioning, anyway.
Most writers I know get through a lot of coffee or tea. I like my tea slightly sweet, and strong enough to punch through a wall. Sometimes when I’m working hard I lose track of how much tea I’ve drunk, and suddenly realise that there’s a big heap of used teabags near the kettle, and that my pulse is going skippety for no good reason. (That might be too much tea.)
Sometimes I go out and meet other authors for tea. A good friend of mine took me to this weird and wonderful afternoon tea at the Kensington Hotel. Look at the tiny gold-painted egg in its own little nest! And the chocolate butterfly cake!
Sorry, I’m off to hug my teapot now.